


Proving You Wrong

by MizJoely



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-12 17:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7114882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This idea popped into my head after reading the post about Loo Brealey saying the sex with Jim was better than it was with Tom. Since that’s always been a particular HC of mine, it set the plot bunnies badooping through my brain and I wondered what Sherlock would think if he overheard Molly talking about how bad the sex with Tom was, and...yeah. This happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Listening In

**Author's Note:**

> Third chapter will be smutty. :D

Sherlock knew he was wrong - so very, very wrong - to eavesdrop on Molly and her friend Meena, but as soon as he heard his name mentioned his interest was piqued. He knew Molly wouldn’t gossip about him, even to her best friend, but she had no compunctions about talking about him in general, and frankly he was curious to hear what she’d say when she didn’t know he could hear her.

“He’s been busy, haven’t seen him in the lab recently, just got few texts now and then asking about symptoms of some exotic poisons and things like that,” Molly was saying as he eased himself behind the barrier of the soffit covering the duct-and-piping chase in the cafeteria. Molly took a sip of her coffee and made a face (not that he could see it, but he heard her sipping and she _always_ made a face after her first sip of coffee).

“Did he ever apologize? You know, for the way he outed your broken engagement?”

His eyebrows lowered at that question, and he shifted uneasily. No, he hadn’t, actually, and this was the first time he’d even thought about the thoughtless comment he’d made all those months ago. To be fair, he’d been high as a kite at the time and Molly was certainly used to him being rude - no, be honest, cruel - when he was on the defensive...but those were just excuses. His latest stint in rehab had forcibly reminded him that excuses weren’t acceptable. He silently resolved to offer her up a sincere apology for his taunting words as soon as he got her alone in the path lab, his original destination after detouring for a cup of coffee.

While he’d been wandering in his guilty thoughts, the conversation had moved on. “So if the sex was that bad, why keep doing it?” Meena asked in a hushed tone that told him she’d probably looked around first to make sure no one could hear her.

Molly sighed. “Well, we were engaged. It’s not like I could just say nope, not interested in it anymore without telling him why...and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and I thought I loved him.”

“Excuses,” Meena said firmly. “If he loved you, he’d want to know he wasn’t exactly turning you into Moaning Myrtle without you helping it along.”

Molly gave an uneasy laugh. “Yeah, I know but the truth is, sometimes bad sex is better than no sex. And it was a long dry spell before I met Tom. And it looks like it’s going to be another long dry spell.”

“You mean to tell me that you and tall, dark and brooding never...?” Meena allowed the question to trail off suggestively, and Sherlock quickly ran through a file of men Molly knew in order to try and identify tall, dark and...oh. His cheeks burned as he realized who she meant.

“No, we never have and never will,” Molly replied. A bit too firmly as far as Sherlock was concerned; since when did she stop wanting him? _Probably since you turned into such a raging asshole whilst high that even Molly Hooper couldn’t stomach the thought of being with you,_ his inner critic (sounding disturbingly like a combination of John and Mycroft) pointed out.

“Oh come on, Molls, all those times he slept over at yours and you’re saying nothing ever happened?”

“No, Meena, I told you that already! Nothing but…” Molly paused, and Sherlock’s mind supplied the missing words. _Nothing but some very enjoyable nights spent snuggled up against each other in her bed, with him acting as the ‘little spoon’ in order to keep her from realizing just how aroused he became at the feel of her body against his._

“Nothing but friendship,” Molly finished. “Which is fine,” she added hastily, a tinge of guilt coloring her words. He could picture her looking about this time, and very distinctly heard her taking a large gulp of her coffee.

“So, it’s true then? He’s gay?” Meena said the last two words in a low voice, as if it was some shameful secret she was sharing - or looking to have confirmed, in this context.

“I don’t know.” Molly’s voice was brittle; good, she didn’t see anything wrong with the possibility of him being gay (he wasn’t), and even though she was too kind to chastise her friend for bringing it up, she was letting her know she wasn’t very pleased with the turn the conversation had taken, either.

“Molls, the man spent time in your bed. With you,” Meena said, as blithely as if she hadn’t heard the clear warning in her friend’s voice telling her to back off. “Either he’s gay or he’s asexual.”

“Or just not interested in me,” Molly countered, rather grumpily.

 _Not true on any count,_ Sherlock almost said aloud, capturing the words behind his teeth at the last possible second. He just couldn’t afford to be distracted by anything as banal as sex...although if he’d realized just how much Molly appeared to enjoy it in her life, he might have reconsidered earlier.

Wait, _earlier_? What did he mean, _earlier_? Surely he wasn’t reconsidering now, just because of one overheard conversation!

Hmm, then again, judging by the way his body was stirring, perhaps he was. He sternly told his penis to behave itself, then placed his attention back on the conversation between the two women.

“Well, whichever way it turns out to be - which is none of our business, Meena, so don’t you think you can go behind my back and try to get him to tell you! - it means no sex for me and tall, dark and brooding.” Molly once again was making very determined statements based on incorrect data. He’d have to correct her on that, and very soon.

Ooh, the idea of _correcting her_ brought up some very interesting visuals that his penis definitely liked: Molly had watched him crop a body once, when he was investigating bruising patterns...and had immediately after asked him for coffee. The thought of her tied to a bed while he stood over her with crop in hand... _Stop that!_ he demanded, rather desperately, of both mind and body.

“So when was the last time you were properly shagged?” Meena asked with a giggle. Sherlock grit his teeth; he was NOT interested in hearing the answer to that particular question, or hearing Molly wax ecstatic about some idiot she’d dated in uni or...

“Don’t tell anyone this, Meena Patel, or I swear to God I’ll not only deny it but I’ll find a way to kill you and hide the body!” Molly was giggling as well, and her voice lowered to a whisper that told him she and Meena now stood with their heads close together as she said it. The name. The one name he’d never, ever expected to hear from Molly’s lips in association with being ‘properly shagged.’

Sherlock stood there, stunned, as Molly and Meena, still giggling like teenagers, finally left the cafeteria back to their respective destinations: Molly to the morgue, Meena to paediatrics.

It took him a good five minutes to make himself move again, the name still ringing through his mind.

Jim, she’d said. Jim Moriarty.

Molly had had sex with Jim Moriarty. Oh, it was when she still believed him to be ‘Jim from IT’, but still. Jim Moriarty had put his penis into Molly’s vagina and fucked her.

Not only had she had sex with him, she’d had _damn good_ sex with him. He’d given her _two orgasms_ , the _best she’d ever fucking had, ever_.

Even if he hadn’t been toying with (all right, _obsessed with_ ) the idea of having sex with Molly since before his exile, this information would have been all the impetus he’d needed to finally stop denying the truth: that he’d been in love with her for years now, but too stupidly focused on the Work and being enamored of his own (faulty) genius to be willing to admit it.

“Excuse me, sir, are you all right?”

He blinked and looked down..and down...at the young woman who’d spoken. A doctor, barely five feet tall even in her ridiculously high-heeled pumps, concerned brown eyes only a shade darker than Molly’s… “Fine,” he barked out, not bothering to catalog the rest of his automatic deductions. “Excuse me.”

He left a very confused young endocrinologist staring after him as he exited the cafeteria and headed for the morgue.

He had to disabuse a certain specialty registrar of her extremely incorrect notions about himself.


	2. Lemme Splain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this was supposed to be a two-parter, but now it's a three-parter. Smut in the last chapter, promise!

Sherlock strode into the path lab, his hands in his pockets and his coat flared dramatically behind him as he crossed the room. Molly looked up from her microscope as he approached, offering him a cheerful smile in greeting. “Hullo, Sherlock!”

He came to a stop directly in front of her, looking her up and down, head to foot, nodding in approval at what he saw: Molly Hooper, hair pulled back in a tidy ponytail, wearing loose khakis and a horrible pink-and-yellow jumper over a mismatched blouse, sensible black flats on her feet with her white lab coat over all. “I think I should clarify a few things,” he finally said as she stared up at him in confusion.

“Um, what things?” she asked, a tiny furrow appearing between her brows. Brows which were really rather well shaped, now that he was paying attention to such tiny details.

He pulled his hands from his pockets and slowly, deliberately stripped off his gloves, setting them down on the table next to her microscope. The furrow between her brows deepened, but he certainly had her full attention. Next he removed his scarf, just as deliberately, and laid it next to the gloves. “Sherlock? What’s going on?” she asked, standing up as if feeling the need to ready herself for anything.

He smiled. Perfect; he really _did_ want her ready for anything. He reached out, palm up, waiting for her to place her hand in his. Which she did after another moment, slowly, hesitantly, but with as much curiosity as concern in her warm brown eyes. “Molly,” he rumbled, “you seem to be under several misapprehensions about me. For one thing, I am neither gay nor asexual. I’ve simply chosen to repress my sexual tendencies - especially my attraction to you - for the sake of my Work.”

“I, okay, but...wait, what did you say?” she interrupted herself to ask, eyes wide with disbelief. “Did - did you just say you’re attracted to me?”

He nodded, holding her gaze. “I am. And have been for almost as long as we’ve known one another.” He let his thumb graze her palm, enjoying the shiver that went over her at the sensation. “However, I’ve discovered over the past few years that all the things I once believed were mere distractions actually enhance my abilities.” He reached out with his free hand to cup her cheek. “Friendship, family, and - I look forward to confirming - sex.”

With that word he leaned down to capture her lips in a searing kiss.

When they came up for air, Molly looked both dazed and pleased...but her expression quickly morphed into suspicion. “You were listening in earlier, when I was talking to Meena,” she accused.

He shrugged and nodded, not at all abashed at having been found out. “A most enlightening conversation.”

Molly narrowed her eyes and pulled out of his embrace. “Sherlock Holmes, if this is just about competing with Jim Moriarty, I swear to God…”

“Not competing with,” he corrected her with a smouldering look. “Besting him.” He tugged her gently forward by the wrist, making sure to keep eye contact so there would be no mistaking his sincerity. “By making certain that you never think fondly about sex with him ever again - because I intend to give you something much better to think about instead.”

“And then what, you just stroll away like nothing ever happened?” Molly said skeptically.

He matched her frown with a scowl. “Of course not! Do you honestly believe I’d give up five years of voluntary celibacy for a one-off?”

“You must’ve done before, else it would have been a lot longer than five years,” Molly pointed out.

Could his admiration for her possibly get any higher? He’d doubted that in the past, and yet here she was again, deducing him. Proving him wrong while he was in the midst of trying to prove HER wrong. Marvelous! Well, except for the fact that she was still questioning him when all he wanted to do was crowd her against the nearest wall and shag her breathless.

“That was different,” he said as he shrugged out of his coat and laid it over the stool she’d just vacated.

“Different how?” she asked, resisting his (admittedly impatient) tug on her wrist this time.

He used his free hand to undo the buttons of his suit jacket. “Because I wasn’t in love with The Woman,” he said bluntly. Might as well get the tricky bit out of the way so she’d stop being so bloody difficult.

“I - you...what?!?” Molly exclaimed, but he was done talking and so should she be. Instead of answering her, he kissed her again, pulling her tightly against his body

“You love me?” Molly asked, rather breathlessly, when the kiss ended. “You’re... _in love_...with me? Since when?”

Sherlock refrained from sighing and rolling his eyes, although he was sorely tempted; this seduction wasn’t going at all to plan. “Since about five minutes after we met and you impressed me with your skill, technique and intelligence during the Phillips autopsy. But at the time sentiment was something to be avoided at all costs, or so I told myself, and so I boxed it all up and put in the deepest, darkest cupboard of my mind palace. But no matter how much I tried to delete things about you, they refused to completely vanish - and that damned cupboard,” he added rather crossly, “is about the size of bloody Buckingham palace now. And it’s all your fault.”

Molly smiled, reaching up to toy with the top button of his shirt. “Cupboard, eh?” she mused.

“That wasn’t exactly the focus of my - oh!” Sherlock interrupted himself, eyes widening as he realized what she meant. He grinned back at her, slow and smouldering and full of promise. “Yes, cupboard,” he agreed, and allowed her drag him out of the lab.

 


	3. Taking Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of the show, folks. Hope you enjoy the smutty goodness!

She didn’t take him to the cupboard nearest the lab, nor to one on the same floor; instead she brought him down to the basement. They marched smartly past the doors to the morgue and its environs, past the staff locker rooms, and down a side hall Sherlock had rarely traversed.

No one, it appeared, made much use of it, judging by the piles of boxes stacked on either side. “They’re supposed to be doing some sort of renovations,” Molly said over her shoulder as she expertly threaded her way past a semi-toppled stack of boxes very vaguely labeled ‘extra materials’. She finally stopped at the supply cupboard, opened it up, and ushered him inside. Sherlock entered, pleased to see that it had been stripped of almost everything except a few stacks of linens - and that the door locked from the inside.

No sooner had Molly entered and turned the latch then he was on her, pressing her up against the door, mouth seeking hers in a hungry, consuming kiss. She kissed him back greedily, her hands in his hair, letting out soft grunts and moans as he pushed one thigh between her legs. He was already hard, eager to let her feel how much he wanted her - to let her know it wasn’t all about  _ Dear Jim _ , not at all. No, that sick bastard was her past, and Sherlock Holmes damned well wanted to show her that he, and only he, was her future.

He mumbled something to that effect as he began tugging at her clothing. “Want you,” he said between fervent kisses. He’d already managed to remove her lab coat and jumper and was busy with her blouse as he turned his attention to her lovely neck and the fourteen freckles that adorned it. He’d already picked out the one he was most fascinated by and proceeded to nibble at it.

Molly wasn’t idle during this, of course; she’d very efficiently stripped him of jacket, shirt and had begun undoing his trousers. Her lips on his neck were a lovely distraction, and he moaned as she began sucking at a particularly sensitive spot below his left ear. Of course that left him free to unbutton her blouse, pushing it down her arms and onto the growing pile of clothes on the cupboard floor. That left only her bra, trousers and knickers, and he made quick work of those as well.

Once her breasts were free he groaned and leaned down to take one rosy nipple between his lips, Molly offering breathy encouragement and digging her fingers into his hair. When she tugged a bit harder he groaned again, then dropped to his knees before her. He looked up to see her eyes gone dark with desire, a red flush spreading down her chest. He grinned up at her, then eased her legs apart and set his mouth directly on her neatly-trimmed pussy.

The pleased squeal she gave was gratifying to hear, and he quickly set to work to ensure that she’d continue to make such noises. He experimented a bit, corkscrewing his tongue inside her; when that proved a great success, he repeated the process, with quick swipes over her engorged clitoris, until he could feel her quivering with the need to come.

Let her come or make her wait? He pondered that decision for about a half a second, then once again applied his tongue to her clit, this time easing his middle finger into her slippery channel. The sound she made was positively feral, a growl and a groan and yip all rolled into one. A sound that went straight to his groin, his erection throbbing in protest at the prison of fabric that still entrapped it. When her fingers dug into his scalp, tugging hard on the sensitive follicles of his hair, he lashed his tongue with more urgency, until finally she came with a long, drawn-out moan that contained the syllables of his name as well as those of some rather unladylike words.

He didn’t bother fully removing his own trousers at that point, just stood up, shoved them (and his pants) down to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees, and guided her hand down to where he most needed it to be. Clever, clever Molly was quick to grasp his intent - and his penis, happily tugging at it while he lifted her right leg and pressed his mouth to her throat. Right over that particular freckle, which he felt an urge to add his own mark to.  _ Sherlock Holmes was here. _

He smirked at the possessive thought, knowing he’d never voice it aloud, especially not to Molly. He didn’t own her, never had and never would, but he would make damn sure that she knew that  _ she  _ owned  _ him _ . Not just his body, although that’s a very pleasant part of it; as she guided him into her warm, wet sex, he gave a shudder and a sigh of pure happiness. She sighed right back at him as he began to thrust, and although he remained fully in the moment, with part of his mind he continued the line of thought. Molly owned him: mind, heart, body, and - if such thing existed - soul. 

He probably mumbled something to that effect as they moved together, but if she heard him Molly was kind enough to let it pass, simply tilting her head to give him better access to that freckle. Throwing caution to the wind he sucked hard, mouth moving almost in time with their rutting bodies, encouraged by her panting breaths and the way her hands clutched his shoulders. She was mouthing his chest and throat, pressing wet kisses to his sweaty flesh, and he loved it all. 

He loved it even more when she began moaning his name; feeling her muscles starting to clench around his penis he judged the time was right to give her that second orgasm she so richly deserved. His free hand - which had been making free with her body, roaming from hip to breast and everything in between - moved down to where they were so fervently joined. With the barest brush of his thumb against her clit, she began to tremble and moan out his name, finally giving in with a keening wail as she came. His hips stuttered and his thrusts became more erratic as his own crisis approached, and when he finally emptied himself into her, her name was on his lips, along with words like ‘you’re perfect’ and ‘love you’.

Sentimental tripe, his brother would undoubtedly call it. Simple truth, he would have countered.

This encounter might have started out because of a feeling of competition with a dead psychopath, but it had quickly evolved into the most honest moment of his life - and he was more than happy to let Molly know how he felt.

“I love you too,” she whispered against his chest when they both sank to the floor, still wrapped in one another’s arms. She looked up at him, smiling her lovely smile, and he repeated the words over and over in between kisses.

In attempting to prove her wrong, he’d inadvertently proven her right about so many things - and he couldn’t wait to tell her about them all.

After, of course, he’d taken her back to Baker Street and once again shagged her delirious.


End file.
